


beautiful husbands

by WellyFullOfAle



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M, Robron Secret Santa 2017, nobody knows love like these two, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellyFullOfAle/pseuds/WellyFullOfAle
Summary: Four strangers who are forced to bear witness to the undeniable bond between Robert J Sugden and Aaron Dingle. At Christmas.And then one who’s no stranger to it at all.





	beautiful husbands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lesfemmesdangereuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesfemmesdangereuses/gifts).



> For the wonderful Kate @lesfemmesdangereuses for the Robron Secret Santa exchange on tumblr

Karen’s a hard-hitting business woman; she prides herself on her reputation as a bit of a ball-breaker, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let herself get distracted by the gruff looking man lingering in the background of the scrapyard whilst she tries to hash out the back end of this haulage deal with Robert Sugden before the country grinds to a halt for the Christmas break.

She pretends not to stare through the window of the portacabin; pretends not to notice the way that the flurry of snow is settling ever-so-cutely on his bed of gel-free curls as Robert tries to negotiate with her over mileage of some sort and discount rates for repeat business.

She pretends not to notice the wedding ring he’s sporting either.

“Like what you see?” Robert asks, cutting through her thoughts.

It’s then she realises she’s been caught staring, and she coughs to try and regain her composure as she sees a mixture of – _what is that?_ – pride? Fury? Whatever it is, it’s plastered over Robert’s face.

She frowns at him, and attempts to ignore her indiscretion by reeling off a few of the numbers in the contract to distract him away from having to admit that she might have noticed the fit man outside.

It’s Robert that’s distracted now, though, as she poses a question on interest rates and expenses and she’s being met with no response.

He’s staring out of the window when she looks back up at him; staring at the same man that she was transfixed by moments earlier.

“He is beautiful, though, isn’t he?” Robert utters, almost as if he can’t stop the words from leaving him, as if it’s some kind of reflex reaction whenever he sets his eyes on him.

Karen follows his gaze, and sees the way that Robert watches the man in the scrapyard with utter devotion etched into his features; a softening to the hard-faced businessman she’d been negotiating with seconds earlier.

“He’s easy on the eye,” Karen admits with a little wariness, unsure she wants to cross the line between business and her personal life, but unable to stop herself becoming slightly intrigued by this sight of Robert Sugden: Serious Businessman in way she’d never seen before.

He’s soft, and smiling, and she thinks it’s slightly unnerving if she’s being honest with herself, but she needs this deal so she decides to entertain this slightly strange turn of events regardless.

“My beautiful husband,” Robert adds, eyes still fixed firmly on the way the hi-vis vest the man is wearing is getting ever so slightly snowier with each second that passes.

Karen rolls her eyes then, realises not only has she lost her chance with the fit guy outside who it turns out has Robert Sugden as a husband, but also that she seems to have lost Robert Sugden’s attention for what could turn out to be the whole afternoon.

Before she can sigh loudly enough to snap Robert out of his daze, Robert’s brushing past her like she’s barely even there, and the door of the portacabin is opening as the husband walks in from the cold.

“I missed you,” Robert smiles as he wraps his arms around the man he married.

“I’ve been out there half an hour,” the husband smiles back, tone full of affection and a little amused at the way Robert is clinging to him as soon as he walks into the portacabin.

“You’re cold, Aaron,” Robert comments, rubbing his palms up and down his husband’s snow-speckled jacket; pushing his nose up against the sharp cold of Aaron’s red nose.

Karen rolls her eyes in the irrelevant background in which she’s still sitting.

“It’s snowing, idiot,” Aaron mentions, as if it isn’t obvious.

“Well let’s get you home to warm up,” Robert insists as he intertwines his own fingers with Aaron’s; playful suggestion in his tone making it quite clear what his methods of warming his beautiful husband up might entail.

It’s then that Karen decides to intervene and remind Robert of her presence, calling out to him just as he’s got a smile on his face as wide as his husband’s, about to shove him out of the door and follow him home.

“The deal, Robert?” she asks, insistently and with a little disdain.

Robert stops in his tracks, her voice jolting him back to the present; his mind having wandered to a few hours in the future and how he’d most likely have his husband all to himself all afternoon.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” he stutters as she looks up at him expectantly, paperwork still scattered over his desk from before his interest in their meeting got abandoned at the sight of his own husband. “What discount did you want?”

“30%, as well as exclusive – ”

“Yes, fine, sounds good,” Robert agrees without hesitation, eyes flickering between Karen, the paperwork, and Aaron as he gets into the driver’s seat of his Porsche.

Karen’s taken aback by that. She’s not going to admit it out loud, but she’d been concerned that Robert Sugden could have been the one to break her 100% record when it comes to getting what she wants in business.

It seems all he needed was a little distraction.

“I’ll sort the paperwork and get in touch when it’s sorted, then,” she agrees, collecting together her things and rushing out of the portacabin as Robert ushers her out into the snow.

“Yes, great,” he agrees as he hurriedly shakes her hand. “If you don’t mind, I have somewhere important to be,” he adds, as he rushes to get into the car with Aaron.

Karen watches the Porsche speed off down the dirt track, its occupants clearly unwilling to let the adverse weather slow them down.

“Yes, your beautiful husband,” Karen whispers to herself with a smirk on her face, as she gets into her own car to drive home and celebrate.

The beautiful husband that has probably just cost you about £30k on this deal, she laughs to herself.

Of course, she can’t know he’s worth infinitely more than that.

 

 

::

 

 

Greg's been here before.   
  
In fact, he can almost feel the déjà vu thrumming through his veins as he stands, back to the bar, elbows resting on the perspex surface behind him as he lets his eyes travel shamelessly around the room, looking for someone new.  
  
He can see familiar faces - guys he's had in his bed before, and others who've yet to know that pleasure - but there's nobody new; nobody who's caught his attention quite in the way he's after.  
  
He's about to give up the game - despite the fresh bottle that his long suffering wingman has just put down beside him - until the door swings open and in walks a face he doesn't recognise; one he hasn't seen before.  
  
He stands up straight at the sight of him, watches as he walks in somewhat uncomfortably with a group of people far more into their surroundings than he is.  
  
He's tall, blond, fair skinned. He's wearing a suit that makes him stand out unintentionally. He's obviously a business type, and Greg wonders whether he's been brought to the village against his will by what appears to be a group of colleagues.  
  
He catches Greg's eye - just for a second - as he scans along the bar, deciding on his drink.   
  
Greg's interested, immediately.  
  
He coughs, nudges his friend to his side and nods in the blond’s direction, his intentions clear.  
  
"Him?" Steve scoffs to the side of him. "That's Robert Sugden."  
  
Greg shrugs like that's supposed to mean something to him, but of course his friend the accountant would know him, Leeds is a small city after all.  
  
"Well Robert Sugden's gonna find himself back at mine tonight," Greg grins with his usual sense of determination.  
  
Steve rolls his eyes before leaning back down on the bar.  
  
"Good luck dragging him away from his husband," he comments. "You've got no chance."  
  
Greg ignores the comment. It's not like he's let something like a spouse stand in his way before, and he's used to getting what he wants.  
  
He sets his sights for the night, and it's only after an hour passes that he realises he's getting nowhere. Robert's not even so much as  glanced in his direction again, and he appears to be having something of a good night despite missing out on Greg's advances. Greg's learnt from Steve that he's something of a big name in the world of sales, and that none of the men he’s out with tonight are his husband. It looks like it could be a Christmas party of some sorts.  
  
He can't quite work out why the usual tactics aren't working for him.  
  
It takes him another half an hour before he decides to give up, calling it a night as he feels the sulk setting in, uttering his apologies to Steve as he makes his way out of the bar.  
  
He's at home less than ten minutes before he's getting restless.  
  
And more than that; he's curious.  
  
Who's this husband that's got someone like Robert Sugden so well tamed?  
  
He taps into his Instagram, clicks on the search bar and types in the name of the man occupying his thoughts. The account comes up straight away, and Greg recognises the blond in the picture, kissing the cheek of a gruff looking man who's looking suitably unimpressed with the attention.  
  
Greg's relieved the account isn't private, and he finds himself losing the next hour of his life scrolling through the copious filtered photos as he gets increasingly more perturbed at the state of the captions on every picture.  
  
There's a lifetimes worth of disgustingly happy memories on there, each one captioned with some soppy status about soulmates or husbands or how he's the luckiest guy in the world.  
  
There's one from the day before, where Robert's smiling broader than Greg had seen him smile all evening in the bar, as the husband stands in the background frowning, wearing a ridiculous looking Santa hoodie.  
  
**rsugden86** _Hubby's not a fan of his early Xmas present, I think he looks quite fit though_ #theone #christmaswithmylove #luckiestguyintheworld #ivegotathingforsanta #him  
  
There's another one of the husband in the snow, facing away from the camera, snow topped trees in the background, sunlight creeping through the branches behind him in what Greg expects Robert thinks is an especially artistic shot.  
  
**rsugden86** _Could life be any more perfect?_ #thehusbandinthesnow #beautiful #nofilter #him  
  
There's a particularly sickening one of the husband asleep, sheets pulled up to his chest, peaceful expression on his face.  
  
**rsugden86** _Luckiest guy in the world to wake up to this every morning_ #mybeautifulhusband #neverthoughtidgetthislucky #him  
  
There's another of the two of them, a close up selfie where Robert's grinning from ear to ear, and the husband has one eyebrow raised like he's amused with something. It looks like booze was involved somewhere, and there's no caption, just the standard #him.  
  
He scrolls far enough back to get to the wedding anniversary, and it's a picture of the two of them, stood side by side in their suits, arms around one another as their heads are turned to look onto one another's eyes. The husband is sporting a rare smile, eyes soft and looking more in love than Greg realised was even possible; even he thinks it looks like the kind of love that only exists in fairy tales.  
  
**rsugden86** _Three years since I locked this one down, for real this time. Never thought I'd get the chance to be this happy again, but every day he surprises me with how much more I fall in love_ ❤ #happyanniversary #bestdayofmylife #messedupforever #myoneandonly #luckiestguyintheworld #husbands #theone #him  
  
Greg wants to be sick in his mouth.  
  
There's loads more of the two of them with a younger girl too, those finished off with a #family, and Greg thinks it looks like the kind of nuclear family he couldn’t ever aspire to want.  
  
The husband _is_ fit, he'll give him that, and it's pretty obvious to Greg now why he got no luck at the bar. Still, it makes him shudder to think that someone could be so ridiculously in love with another person, to the point where he wouldn't even notice someone like Greg giving him the eye across the bar.  
  
Each to their own, he guesses, as he slams his phone down on his bedside table and rolls over to sleep, an unfamiliar ache in his chest.  
  
He won't admit that he spends the night dreaming of a love as great as the one Robert Sugden's clearly found.

 

::

 

  1. **_Chris_**



Chris is going to make this the last pickup of the night.  
  
It's almost 1am, and he's worked the last seven nights in a row, but it's not like he's in a position to turn down the Christmas party fares when he’s got three kids expecting a visit from Santa in a few days’ time.  
  
It's a long trip, taking him from the centre of Leeds out into the sticks of Emmerdale, but it should be quite an earner and he won't end up too far from home.   
  
There's a knock at his car window, and a blond man the other side of it.  
  
"You for Dingle?" the man asks as Chris winds down his window.  
  
He nods and unlocks the doors, and the blond man beckons over another man stood outside the kebab house, finishing off his donner meat and chips and chucking the polystyrene tray into the nearest bin as the blond opens up the door and ushers the brunet inside the back of the cab before stepping in himself.  
  
"Emmerdale, please," the brunet slurs as he shuffles across to let the blond get in beside him.  
  
"It's gonna be forty quid," Chris advises them, because he can tell they've had a drink and he doesn't want an argument like the one he had last Saturday with that couple who didn’t have enough to pay him. "Cash up front," he adds, with a hint of an apology.

"Give him the money, Rob," the brunet mutters as he clicks in his seatbelt.  
  
Chris watches them in his rear view mirror, intrigued by the familiarity between them; how comfortable they are in one another's presence. He sees the blond - Rob, he assumes - look over at the other man with a smirk, as if he's going to put up a fight about being ordered to pay for the taxi for the both of them.  
  
The other man smiles back at him, and chuckles as he grabs Rob's wallet from his hands. He sifts out two twenty's and hands them to Chris in the front seat, giving him their postcode along with it.  
  
"Cheers," Chris says as he takes the money and sets up his satnav before putting the car into gear, but he gets the impression the men in the backseat are too preoccupied to pay him any attention.  
  
"Never been a cheap date, have you?" the blond remarks playfully, earning himself a shove on the shoulder.

Chris watches them flirt with each other through his rear view mirror; glances away as he sees them both lean in and he knows what’s coming next – he doesn’t need to watch.

He supposes he’d rather have a couple all over each other than an annoying group trying to make awkward conversation with him, or even worse a single drunk who starts heaving every time he takes a bend a little too sharply.

Still, he glances back in his rear view mirror, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen a couple quite so all over one another as these two.

He can _hear_ it, which he thinks is the worst – there’s some kind of mumbling, and then the smack of lips, and he’s sure he hears a weird slurping sound coming from them at one point.

He rolls his eyes as he tries to keep his attention fixed on the road ahead of him, but as much as he tries, something keeps drawing his eyes back to the pair of them. As he passes under one street lamp he sees the glint of a wedding ring, and he smiles to himself for a second as he thinks about when him and his wife first got married; how they used to snog in the back of a taxi, too.

Not quite as hungrily as this, though – not quite as if their entire lives and the future of mankind depend on the pair of them connecting lips and tongues and losing one another in the sensation of it all.

There’s hands travelling places Chris isn’t sure he wants to know about, and there’s shuffling around in the seats behind him as there’s a chorus of moans in between kissing sounds, and Chris is thankful that it’s dark enough that he can’t fully tell what’s happening back there.

He wonders if they’ll stop for breath at any point, but it doesn’t seem to happen, and he resorts to turning the radio up after a short while so he doesn’t have to _listen_ to it any more.

They don’t appear to notice, and they’re almost on the approach into Emmerdale before he hears the kissing turn to heavy breathing instead, and he glances into his rear view mirror and sees the flashes of them with each street lamp they pass under; lips finally torn apart from one another as they lean their foreheads against one another, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” Chris hears one of them say, and he glances away as if he feels like he’s intruding in on some private moment; despite being sure neither of the men in the back of his cab were even aware of his presence, let alone bothered by it.

“Shut up, softlad,” the other one replied, in the kind of soft voice that only lovers know.

“You love me, too,” the blond asserted, and Chris could hear the smirk covering his face without having to glance in his mirror.

“You know,” the brunet answered, a sudden sincerity to his tone that had Chris swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“I know,” the blond replied, and then there was the smack of lips together again, until Chris jolted to a stop in front of the address they’d given him earlier, coughing to announce their arrival.

“Cheers, mate,” they both grinned as they made their way out of the back of the cab.

Chris watched them both walk away, hand in hand, neither of them able to walk in a straight line, as they pulled each other close at the same moment and fell onto one another’s lips again.

He reversed away as he watched them open up their front door and walk inside. He glanced back only to see one of them being slammed up against the glass panel of the front door as it closed behind them.

He realised he could only feel sorry for their neighbours – they weren’t getting much sleep tonight, he was sure of that.

 

 

::

 

 

  1. **_Fiona_**



Fiona’s only got one hour and twenty minutes left of her last shift before Christmas.

That’s eight lots of ten minutes.

Probably sixteen more customers.

She can handle that, and then it’s Christmas, Christmas, Christmas all the way.

It’s Christmas Eve, and that means it’s the busiest shopping day of the year in Waitrose, and that means at least the first six hours and forty minutes of her shift have sped past.

She’s getting a little tired of the constant beep from the checkout till, though; and even more so of the constant loop of Christmas music that she’s been forced to listen to since October. She’s tired of the stream of excitable kids lingering through her checkout aisle and the stressed parents that come alongside them.

She glances up and looks at the line waiting by her till again, and it’s as long as it’s been all day, but the sight of two of the men in her aisle make her readjust in her seat slightly. One’s blond and fair, suited up, taller than the other with cheekbones for days; the other’s shorter and scruffier, all hoodie and jeans and a playful scowl on his face.

The scruffy one’s picking up handfuls of random things out of the trolley and strewing them haphazardly on the conveyor belt, and the blond one’s getting more and more worked up with each new handful, instructing him to put things on in their correct order and to line them up neatly.

“It’ll make it easier to pack them up once they’ve been scanned,” he insists, rearranging the several different boxes to create a little more order on the conveyor belt, as the scruffy looking one looks up at him like he’s lost the plot. “Bread at the end, else it’ll get squashed,” he adds.

Fiona notices the wedding rings, then, as she finishes off taking the payment for the couple in front of them in the queue.

They continue to bicker as they make their way through the till, disagreeing on which things should be packed together in which bags; the blond unpacking and rearranging and re-packing everything that the other one does, until he takes a step back and looks up at Fiona.

“I’ll just let him do it all, then,” he shrugs unapologetically as Fiona smiles back at him. “And he can pay, too.”

“Ignore my sulking husband,” the blond one addresses her now. “He’s been a scrooge all day.”

Fiona thinks she doesn’t want to get involved, just smiling and nodding at the pair of them as she continues scanning all of the items through – pretending not to get a flush on as she beeps through the condoms and lube in amongst the Quality Street and cheese selection – and she wonders whether they must argue like this all of the time.

She can’t know it’s their version of foreplay; although she gets a hint as they walk away from her till after paying, and sees the blond one slapping the other one on his arse, then being dragged into a kiss as they walk away with the trolley full of turkey and all the trimmings.

 _Looks like they’re going to be seeing in Christmas Day the best way_ , she thinks to herself.

And she’s not wrong, of course.

 

 

::

 

  1. **_Olivia_**



Liv?

Well, Liv’s more than used to it.

She recognises the scene as soon as she walks in the door, and she feels the dread build up inside of her as she realises what’s happening.

She’s got a couple of uni mates staying with her for New Year’s Eve, and they’ve been down the pub for the afternoon meeting Gerry and Gabby, and Liv’s more than a bit annoyed that her brothers seem to have forgotten all about her visitors and instead have spent the afternoon getting carried away with themselves.

Again.

It’s the candles they’ve left lit - placed precariously around their living room - and the sounds of some sort of slow music coming from the iPad on the coffee table that really gives them away.

She could curse herself when – just as all her mates pile in through the front door – she unwittingly turns the music off, only for the sound to be replaced by unmistakeable noises coming from upstairs, and Liv wants the ground to open up and swallow her.

“Not again,” Gerry sighs with a roll of his eyes.

Liv’s slightly more frustrated and embarrassed, whilst her uni mates seem to break into a round of amused laughter.

“It’s not as funny when you’ve lived with this for years, believe me,” she snaps, ushering everyone else back out of the front door. “Back to the pub, this’ll be out of bounds for a few more hours, at least,” she adds.

“Hours?” one of her uni mates questions, suitably impressed.

Gerry and Liv look at one another with a knowing glace.

“Hours,” they both confirm in unison.

They’re both all too well aware how long _that_ goes on for, after all; that’s what happens when you live with Robert and Aaron Sugden Dingle: The Most Grossly In Love Couple to have ever graced the planet.

She can’t help but smile to herself a little as she closes the door behind her on the way out, though.

Of course she’ll never admit it, but it _is_ kinda cute, really.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr - @wellyfullofale


End file.
